


Prisoner's Release

by April_Valentine



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 23:43:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/April_Valentine/pseuds/April_Valentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reese leaves Rikers at last and Finch wants to see him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prisoner's Release

Reese signed the release papers "John Warren" and then picked up the heavy envelope containing his personal property. He nodded when the officer behind the desk told him to check the contents and opened the flap, tilting the envelope to let the items inside slide out.

Wallet with his Warren identity, black socks, black shoes, black knit boxer briefs, white shirt, crumpled and creased and the suit, also black of course, wrinkled and still covered in the dust from the bank. They told him he could change in the room where they'd strip searched him two weeks ago when he'd been brought in. His mouth drawn tight, Reese complied. 

The four walls of that small room were an institutional green, marred with scratches and peeling paint. Reese had been strip searched before, but the memory of the most recent time, here, was strong in his mind, combined with his chagrin and embarrassment at having failed his boss and gotten arrested. He'd tried to tell Finch he was sorry, but the one brief conversation with him hadn't really given him enough time to say what he really wanted to. What he'd wanted to say before the FBI had taken him into custody, what he'd been thinking about the day before when he'd told Finch he was feeling happy... and why he felt happy after feeling nothing for such a long time. Months ago, he'd started to feel again, mostly despair and defeat, raw emotions only broken by the occasional satisfaction of helping the Numbers, the slight pleasure when he'd tease Finch or manage to find out some inconsequential fact about his employer. But then, little by little, he'd begun to feel better, to recognize that once, a long time ago, he'd been a happier person, a better person, one who wasn't a killer. 

And he owed it to Harold. 

Before he had met Harold Finch, he had been alone, grieving, dead as much to himself as he was to the world. Now, he had a reason to get up in the morning, a way to help people. And a friend. For weeks now, since he'd gotten Finch back from Root, Reese had wanted to tell the other man how he felt. But he'd held back, unsure. Finch guarded his privacy, despite having opened up to Reese more and more in the last few months. When he'd met Finch, Reese had suspected the man might be closeted, but one of the things Reese had discovered had been Grace, the fiancé Harold had left to protect. He now knew that Finch had once loved a woman, maybe had always preferred women. So Reese had held back, not wanting to press the issue and make Finch more uncomfortable. And since the Numbers were the most important thing in both their lives, there hadn't been a moment when Reese could have said what he wanted to anyway.

Reese slowly pulled off the orange jumpsuit, ignoring the pain in his ribs and stomach from the beating in the yard, and tossed it in the corner. He held up his suit, brushing the dust off of the dark fabric and shaking it out before putting it on, pleased that the expensive material didn't hold the wrinkles. Once he put on his jacket, it covered the creases in his white shirt, and all in all, he felt he didn't look bad. The last job had been a success; he knew from Finch's phone call at the bank that he'd succeeded in helping Abby and Shayn get away, and that was good, that was important. Reese had done wrong in getting caught, but it had worked out. He hadn't failed Finch after all. 

He could feel good about that, could hang onto it. And maybe soon, he'd feel happy again. 

He walked back into the other room, where he leaned against a table to put on his watch. While he did so, Donnelly watched him, so Reese made a show of adjusting his cuffs and rolling his shoulders as he made sure his jacket was comfortable. Dressed once again in his self assurance, his uniform, his armor, the suit that had passed all the tests, he walked out and down the hall, aware of Donnelly's suspicious eyes on his back, still wondering how it was that John Warren hadn't been the man he'd been looking for. 

Reese walked out of the prison yard and decided stealing a car might not be the best course of action, so he caught a cab. As it took him back to the city, he watched the buildings and felt the skyscrapers welcoming him home. This was his home now, the place he had returned to defend, the place where Finch had found him, where'd he'd begun the slow process of putting himself back together. 

He got out and paid the driver, then walked a half block to a bodega where he bought a cheap burner phone and dialed Finch. 

"Mr. Reese?" The worried voice responded on the first ring. 

Finch's voice had never sounded so sweet in John's ear. "It's me, Finch," he answered. "I'm out."

"Yes, Detective Carter was kind enough to let me know. Where are you?"

"Brooklyn. Thought I'd head to my place and shower and change... "

"No, John," Finch interrupted. "I want you to come here."

John sighed. He wanted to see Finch as soon as possible too, but, " Harold," he said, "I'm filthy. I'm tired. I'd like to get the stink of that jail off me before I see you..."

"I want you to come here first, John." Finch's voice had a determined hardness to it.

"Are you going to fire me?" Reese tried to make it sound like a joke, but the coldness in the pit of his stomach couldn't be denied. This was it. End of the line. Finch had decided he wasn't worth it after all. John held his breath.

A sigh came over the line. "No, Mr. Reese. You're not fired. But I do want to... have a word with you. And... Bear would like to see you. He's been a little out of sorts while you've been gone."

Bear... Reese had missed the dog, especially when he'd run into Bear's former owner... the Aryan who'd taken him from Bear's original owner and probably would have mistreated the poor dog if he'd had him much longer. 

"Yes, Bear, I'm talking to John right now," Finch's voice came over the phone line, sounding not too different from the tone he'd used when offering Leila a bottle. "He'll be home soon." 

"Finch," Reese sighed. He'd badly wanted to have some time to himself before he had to face Finch, but he couldn't refuse both Finch and Bear. "I'll be there soon." He glanced at his watch; he'd been out for half an hour. 

"Good. We'll be expecting you." Finch's voice had lost the softness and again sounded like he was giving Reese orders. That was all right though. Reese kind of liked it when Finch gave him orders. While under arrest, he'd been ordered around a lot, so it should have bothered him, but somehow, having Finch demand his presence felt right, comfortable, as if all was right with the world.

He set off in the direction of the library.

The closer he got, however, the more he began to feel awkward. This had to be more difficult than it appeared. Finch wouldn't just forget what had happened, and though he might not say much about it, Reese couldn't help feeling it would set their relationship back. 

Finch had told him, more than once, to get out of the bank basement, even going so far as to suggest he leave Abby and Shayn. Reese could not comply, conflicted though he was about saying no to an order of Finch's. He'd been overconfident, so certain that he could succeed both in completing the mission and making his own escape. 

That hadn't turned out to be the case, though. 

As he neared the library, Reese decided he would never tell Finch how he felt. If he still had his job and could still be the Man in the Suit, that would be enough.

The streets were dark. Reese was tired and anxious and tired of darkness. Before the bank, before Donnelly and Rikers, he'd been happy, the world had felt light. For the last two weeks he felt like he'd been trapped in the darkness he'd known with Stanton, with the work he'd done with her, as though if something didn't happen, he'd stay trapped there for the rest of his life.

He finally stood outside the library, his heart heavy with dread. In his pocket, the burner phone rang. He pulled it out and held it to his ear as he answered the call.

"I'm waiting, Mr. Reese," said Finch's voice, as if he didn't know perfectly well where John was.

"On my way," he replied. He took a deep breath and entered the building.

He climbed the steps, following the soft glow of the lights from the workroom above. Suddenly, he heard the unmistakable sound of Bear's paws on the wooden floor as he hurried to meet his master. The dog started running, whining aloud as he realized Reese was home, and met him on the landing, wagging his tail, sniffing and licking in excitement. Reese bent to scratch behind his ears and rub his sides. It was good to be welcomed so enthusiastically.

"Mr. Reese?" Finch sounded annoyed.

"Come on, Bear," John told the dog, straightening to continue the rest of the way up to the main room where they did their work. 

Reese told himself not to take a deep breath in preparation as he entered, but he did; he couldn't help himself.

Finch was dressed in a dark blue suit with violet overtones; his tie and pocket square were deep red. On the table next to the computer monitors was a bottle of scotch and two heavy snifter shaped glasses. He held one out to Reese.

"I thought you might wish to celebrate," he said, though his tone did not match the words. To Reese's ears, Finch's voice sounded strained, tight.

Reese strode toward him and accepted the glass, pausing to glance at the bottle. "Macallan, 1939?" he read. "That probably cost more than all the whiskey I drank before you found me." 

"I suspect a bit more," Finch told him. "I paid a little over ten thousand dollars for this bottle, actually."

Reese paused in the act of taking a sip. "Don't you think that's a bit of a waste?"

Finch just looked at him. "What do you think, Mr. Reese?"

Bear nudged at the back of Reese's leg and he looked down at the dog, grateful to have somewhere else to look other than Finch's astute glare.

"I don't know. I just got out of the slammer, Finch. I nearly got made. I nearly ruined your whole operation."

"Yes," Finch agreed. "You did."

"You told me to get out and I didn't," Reese went on, needing to fully admit what he'd done. "I should have listened to you."

"Yes," Finch repeated. "And I certainly hope you'll never be that careless again." Without taking his eyes from Reese, Finch brought his own glass to his lips and downed the finger of scotch he'd poured in a single gulp. He sat the empty glass on the table and reached out with both hands, grabbing Reese by the lapels of his suit.

"Finch --?"

Without another word, Finch yanked Reese to him, leaning up to crush his mouth against John's. 

Startled, at first Reese didn't respond. He could only feel. There was the pressure of Finch's lips on his own, the moisture and heat and an incredible hunger. Finch moaned, his hands pulling Reese closer, his lips opening, and Reese fumbled to put the expensive glass with the very expensive scotch on the table before he dropped it, then wrapped his arms around Finch, opening his own mouth in response. 

His tongue was sucked into Finch's mouth, devoured as though the man had been starving. Reese had been starving too, for so long, hungry and alone and lost... and a good man had found him, given him purpose... a good man who apparently wanted him as much as he was wanted. 

The realization that he'd been wrong about Finch not returning his feelings surged through him, and he drew Finch tight against himself, reveling in the strength of the body he'd once thought of as fragile, the hardness that throbbed against Reese's thigh. He ran a hand down Finch's body, over his hip and then between them, groaning as Finch's hand grasped his and moved it to cover his erection. 

Reese squeezed and smiled into the kiss as Finch's whole body jerked against him. He wasn't sure if it was his own idea or if Finch pushed him down, but he found himself sliding to his knees, Finch gripping his shoulders. It didn't matter. What mattered was his hands unbuckling Finch's belt and opening his pants, his fingers drawing Finch out, the gasp he heard above him as he explored, as his mouth opened and tasted at last.

It didn't last long. Reese cupped Finch's balls and took his cock deep, sucking hard, hungry for the other man's flesh, needing to pleasure him. Finch's hips bucked, his hands tightened on Reese's head and he was coming, a low groan ending in a deep sigh. Reese swallowed, milking out all the shudders he could from Finch's body, then nuzzling his face against the damp fabric as he simply held Finch's softened cock like a treasure in his hand.

Bear whined. Reese blinked and focused, his gaze moving from the spent cock he held to the man who owned it. Finch's eyes were soft now, his mouth moist, curved up at one corner. Reese tucked him away, re-zipping the blue violet trousers, and stood up.

"You should try the scotch," Finch said. "It's rather peaty, with the flavors of dried fruit and toffee."

Reese didn't take his eyes from Finch's as he found his glass and sipped. The powerful scotch mingled on Reese's tongue with the taste of the man who'd poured it, warming as he swallowed, filling him with a glowing light. "Wow," he breathed a moment later, figuring he'd let Finch decide for himself which taste he was referring to. 

"I hope you'll remember to listen when I tell you it's time to leave a situation from now on," Finch said then, his eyes warm on Reese.

"I'll remember." Reese leaned down and kissed him again.

*****

Unfortunately, he had to go meet Carter. He wanted to thank her for her help. He knew he owed her too. And he still wanted to shower, even more now. He wanted to be clean before he'd let Finch touch him. Because, oh, he wanted Finch to touch him. He wanted Finch to take hold of him just the way he had, with all the authority Reese loved and the desire he’d never suspected, not of his lapels this time, but of his body, the back of his neck, his waist, his cock and his balls and his ass... The banked desire surged through him, but his release would be worth waiting for, once he and Finch were sprawled together in the big bed in the loft with the city lights casting their glow over their bodies. So after a few more sips of Finch’s expensive whiskey, they decided they would meet in an hour at Reese's loft.

*****

Reese opened his eyes, barely focusing on the figure leaning over him. All he could make out was a silhouette, lit from behind. He was groggy and dazed, tied to a chair, in a room he didn't recognize. His body throbbed with pain. His right arm felt like it was broken.

"That's it, lover. Open those beautiful blue eyes."

It was her voice, Reese realized. Kara. She'd wrecked the car... shot Donnelly, injected him... 

"Now I want to know all about what you've been doing since we last saw each other," Stanton said as he stared at her, not realizing that he still wasn't fully awake. She wanted to know what he'd been doing... he wanted to know too.

Bits and pieces were all that came to mind. Leaving Rikers. Making phone calls... being found with Carter by Donnelly.

Finch – Finch was going to hate this. Finch would... 

He’d been ready to sleep with Finch in his bed at home... hadn’t he? 

His eyes burned. His head pounded. He wished he had a hand free to rub the grit from his eyes, the cobwebs from his brain. 

He couldn’t think, couldn’t trust his mind. He needed a moment and he knew she wouldn’t give it to him. With Kara, he needed to be at his best, his sharpest. But... 

_Oh God, Harold...?_

Had those moments at the library with Finch been real? Or had they just been a dream conjured by whatever had been in the hypo Kara had shoved into his neck after the accident?

However real it felt, however desperately he wanted it to have happened, Reese couldn't be sure. The glow of warmth and light had faded, slipping from his grasp, as the dark he'd once walked in began to swallow him up once more.

**Author's Note:**

> This was started after "2 pi R" and completed after "Prisoner's Dilemma" so some adjustments in this "Reese gets out of jail" storyline were made at that time.


End file.
